


Scars

by vaderina



Series: Team Beasts [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Major Character Injury, Military Homophobia, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Prisoner of War, Sniper!Newt, Tattoos, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderina/pseuds/vaderina
Summary: Being in the military leaves you with scars. This is a story of how Newt and Percival got theirs before they knew each other and how they cope after life throws them together.





	1. Newt

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read.  
> Don't own the characters, only the typos and mistakes.
> 
> I blame nevermind_that_mushroom for this completely. Without them I wouldn't have put this much thought into background stories.  
> It's going to be 3 chapters, the first deals with Newt's scars, the second with Graves' and the third will be set after Team Beasts and will be about both of them.
> 
> Tags are for the overall story, not just this chapter.
> 
> Please heed warnings at the bottom.

The first scar Newt acquired was at the age of six. He’d been complaining of stomach ache for the last few days which came and went until it settled into an almost excruciating constant agony in the middle of the night. His parents found him curled in on himself with tear stained cheeks, unable to go to them for help. The trip to the hospital was a distant haze of pain for Newt and all he remembered was waking up to the pain being gone, being surrounded by balloons, cuddly toys and get well cards. Probably the most memorable part though was Theseus throwing a massive hysterical fit when he realised Newt had a cool scar on his tummy and he wanted one too. They still laughed about it when they spent an evening reminiscing. Theseus is no longer jealous of his scar, he has his own collection now and age has brought him the bitter knowledge of the pain scars represent. So that was Newt’s first major scar. Little did he know that he would accumulate a veritable patchwork of them over the course of his life and career as a sniper.

Growing up he had it relatively easy. Sure he had the odd scraped knee and the faint white line on the underside of his arm which served as a reminder of the time he fell out of a tree while playing superheroes but other than his appendectomy scar he grew up fairly unblemished. He watched Theseus join the army and get immersed in a new life. Occasionally he would come home with wild stories about his unit. They went to the ceremony as a family where Theseus moved from Lieutenant to Captain and by then Newt was old enough to know he wanted to follow in his brother’s footsteps. He enlisted in the army himself and began his basic training. It was a blast if he was honest. The people in his regiment all worked together, shared – probably over shared – their thoughts, hopes and fears. They were like a large, chaotic family which Newt relished. His next few scars came from his training days. The day he caught his finger while stripping and reassembling a rifle blindfolded left a small numb patch on the top of his index finger along with a dent. He picked up a sliver of a bald patch just behind his temple when someone barrelled into him on the assault course from behind and sent him sprawling onto the stumps which held up the commando crawl net. He also dished out his fair share of scars and injuries quite accidentally. Learning hand to hand combat he broke Alfonzo’s nose with an overenthusiastic left hook. In retaliation he received a dislocated shoulder and they both got reprimanded.

Throughout his training Newt felt the shadow of his brother cast over him. It certainly made some things easier – his progression in Officer Training Camp for one had always been pretty much assured from the time of his enrolment. It also meant that while he didn’t have it an easier than the rest of his cohort, some of the higher-ups weren’t quite as harsh with him. Of course it went the other way too. He was the great, brave Scamander’s little brother so he had to live up to certain expectations. So some of the seniors pushed him that little bit harder. At the time he occasionally cursed Theseus into the cold hard ground he was forced to do press-ups against but the extra pushing paid off in the long run. It made him realise he could endure a heck of a lot more than he thought and he could stand his own ground. It was however reassuring to know that should anything happen Theseus would do his best to smooth things over for him.

It all came to a head a few weeks before the end of the officers’ camp. Newt and Belfont had been circling each other for a while now. Neither brave enough to initiate the first move but the underlying attraction was impossible to ignore. While Newt had somewhat filled out with his training he never bulked up like some of his fellow officers. Belfont himself was built like a wardrobe though he wasn’t quite as tall as Newt. It had just been announced that they had a long weekend off, allegedly to help prepare for the final few tests which were a mere formality of their training. Really they knew they’d all passed the gruelling physical and mental tests of the previous weeks and this was their command’s way of letting them celebrate. Needless to say they were all on the drunker side of tipsy when Belfont sidled up to Newt with a shy smile. They found themselves behind the recycling bin a short few minutes later making out like teenagers. Newt had Belfont pressed against the wall while the other man had his hands gripped firmly on Newt’s backside. All the pent up tension of the past weeks was unleashed in nipped lips, tongues clashing and Newt had managed to press a thigh between Belfont’s legs when the clearing of a throat had them springing apart. Their usual group of friends were standing in a loose circle around them looking disgusted. Belfont took a hasty step away from Newt.

“He forced me. Came onto me out of the blue. Forced himself onto me.” he cried. The others stared at Newt who looked at Belfont with a betrayed frown.

“I did no such thing. You pulled us out here.” Newt tried to defend himself. He never did figure out who threw the first punch. It was an unfair fight from start to finish, he defended himself best he could but when it was seven against one with his only hope of an ally standing back and watching the others beat him senseless it wasn’t difficult to predict the outcome. From what he heard later on it was Captain Hendricks who put an end to it before things could get truly nasty.

Theseus was the one to come bust him out of the brig. Newt was slumped in the corner on the floor trying to keep pressure of his numerous bruises when the door swung open. His brother stepped through the door and stopped with a barely contained gasp. Newt knew he didn’t make for a pretty picture but he’d hoped his brother wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. The left side of his face was swollen up and purple, his lip was split, two black eyes. His fists were raw, there were scratches on his arms. But the worst was the line of bruising round his neck. It was a livid sharp line which contrasted spectacularly with the pale skin of his throat. One of his so called friends had probably used a shoelace to choke him – he was hazy on the details but Newt could remember the feeling of breathlessness, the building pounding headache and the panic of not being able to break the hold. There were some finger shaped bruises around the solid line where someone thought to try to subdue him with brutal force.

“Oh Newt.” Theseus sighed. Newt for his part barely glanced up at his brother. If Theseus thought he looked bad like this then he didn’t want to know what his reaction would be with his shirt off. His back was a blanket of pain, muscles seized in response to the extensive bruising. He supposed he should consider himself lucky nobody had a knife at the time.

“Let’s get you home.” Theseus pulled him to his feet and the quietly made their way out. His brother’s car was near the exit and he helped Newt lower himself into the seat. Silence prevailed in the car as they left the barracks. Newt didn’t have anything to say and if he were perfectly honest his jaw hurt too much to talk even if he wanted to.

“Your attackers are being dealt with.” Theseus reassured him. Newt snorted and played with the hem of his jumper. “Their account of what happened was too inconsistent to hold any truth to it. Belfont has been reprimanded with a permanent note in his file. The others are off to the Corrections Facility for six months each before being discharged. They’re letting you graduate early if you don’t press charges.”

Newt looked out of the window and didn’t say anything. Theseus took that as a chance to continue.

“You have been earmarked as a person of interest by the sniper division. I know it’s not the route you were intending to take but consider it? They’re more open around the DADT than the canine unit. You might find it a better fit.”

Silence descended on them again. Newt let Theseus lead him out of the car and into his house when they stopped. He didn’t know why Theseus would want him there, the echoes of what his so called friends had screamed at him still rang in his head. Dinner was also a silent affair. Thankfully Theseus cobbled together some soup so Newt didn’t have to work his aching jaw too hard. It was a small wonder he hadn’t lost a tooth or two. The house was small, more of a maisonette than a house, one bedroom, a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. Theseus made up his couch with a few pillows and a thrown and left Newt to get ready for bed. Taking his jumper off was painful, as was slipping off his t-shirt. Newt was close to tear by the time he had stripped to his underwear but he refused to ask for help. He turned when he heard a noise from the doorway. Theseus was leaning against the wooden frame with a sad look in his eye. He had something wrapped in a cloth in his hands.

“I thought an icepack might feel nice for your jaw. But perhaps I should have invested in an ice room instead.” he tried to make light of the bruising marring Newt’s body. Newt shrugged with a small smile and held out a hand for the ice pack. It sailed through the air and he deftly caught it.

“Thanks.” he murmured and held it against his throbbing jaw. As he lay down on the sofa with a small hiss of pain Theseus meandered into the room. He settled on the floor with his back to the sofa and tipped his head back to look at Newt.

“I’m sorry.” he heaved out with a sigh finally.

“Not your fault.” Newt mumbled.

“I can still be sorry. I know I couldn’t have done anything, people are dicks. Especially in the army. It’s not your fault either by the way. You know that, right?” Newt tried to shrug in response. He deemed it a successful attempt when Theseus let out a bitter laugh. “For all its faults the army isn’t bad, as I’m sure you know. But I think if you became a sniper and worked with a small covert unit you’d find what I’d found in it too. I’ve kept in touch with very few of my basic training group you know. You’ve heard me talk of Graves? He and I have been leapfrogging through the ranks. As much as we annoy the shit out of each other he is probably one of my closest friends.”

“Sounds nice.”

“You’ll find your group too. It’s just a matter of time. Think of basic training and officers’ camp like preschool. You’ve played around and now you’re going into the big school where you will actually learn things and make proper friends.”

“If you say so. You’re not mad?” Newt ventured and his brother laughed.

“Mad? I’m furious. Livid. Almost purple in the head with rage. How those dick thugs thought they could do this to you of all people. My sweet baby brother.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not. You’re my brother. I love you. Just the way you are.” Theseus’ eyes softened as he looked at Newt.

“Even if I’m…” Newt couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. He wasn’t sure what word to use anyway, the ones his assailants had bandied around or some other term.

“Newt,” Theseus’ voice had taken on a serious note, “I’ve always know. And I’ve never cared. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Newt tried for a smile at that. A hand ruffled his hair and the brothers sat in the darkening room in silence.

In the morning Newt was sore all over, sleeping on the short sofa had put a crick in his neck and the ice pack had warmed through during the night. They spent a lot of the night just enjoying the other’s presence. It wasn’t often any more that they got a chance to do it and while they were lost in their thoughts Newt got a chance to ponder his options. His heart had always been set on joining the canine unit ever since he’d known he was enlisting. Animals were his passion and if he could find a way to work with them within the army he’d been adamant that he would do so. But Theseus’ words had struck a chord with him. The idea of a small, close knit team appealed to him. While he’d never much cared for being a sniper his scored were good enough to get him into training. And if what Theseus said about their DADT attitude, well, he’d learnt the hard way to be careful. He mulled these thoughts over and when two weeks later he received a letter inviting him to join the sniper division he gladly accepted as he threw away his canine unit application.

His time training as a sniper was relatively uncomplicated. Newt trained hard, he kept his romantic interests strictly out of town and never saw the same man twice. It worked. He was fairly certain some of his cohort knew of his extracurricular activities but never said anything. They were slowly being sent out on milk run missions with various units as the final part of their training. Newt was to fly out for a short 2 day mission where he would be under the tutorage of an experienced sniper. It all seemed to go well on the first day. The team were great, the explosive’s expert Kowalski welcomed Newt with open arms. He’d only qualified for independent field work a little over a year ago. On their first evening Newt found himself presented with a small pastry courtesy of the man and it was one of the best nights of Newt’s life.

The next day he and Jones were up in a nest keeping an eye on the exchange between an illegal arms dealer and Kowalski who was posing as a potential buyer. Neither snipers were expecting things to go wrong, they were in the deserted industrial area of a small town, high up on a roof. Nobody knew how their location got leaked or whether it was a lucky guess but just as the deal was sealed a shadow fell across them. They turned as one but their assailant already had a gun pointed at Jones. The sound of the gun firing was deafening and newt was sprayed with blood and brain matter. He froze. This was not how his first mission was meant to go. The gun swung to point at him. Newt kicked out at the arm and the gun went clattering off the roof. He didn’t think of what was going on below him, whether Kowalski was okay. The other man had pulled a serrated knife from his belt and was advancing on him. Instinct kicked in then. Newt sprung to his feet, his hand to hand combat training coming to the forefront of his mind. He and the attacked circled each other warily before the man lunged for Newt. The fight was vicious, dirty and nothing like the sparring sessions in training. Newt managed to kick his opponent’s legs out from under him which gave him time to spring away from the man’s futile stab. However it didn’t give him enough time. The other man was up and lunging for him within a second of hitting the ground. Icy cold pain shot through Newt as the knife sliced into his side. He let out a cry as his knees buckled, hands clutching at the knife. His enemy smirked then and took a step back, hand reaching for his belt once more. Shock made Newt numb, his hands were slippery with his blood as he pulled the knife out. He couldn’t feel half his body any more, mind suddenly focussed on his survival. He flipped the knife in his hand and pushed himself up. The other man looked surprised as Newt took a step towards him. Newt sprang on the man, muscles screaming in protest. The next thing Newt knew was he was sitting on the ground covered in a lot more blood, a dead body was in front of him, throat slit and eyes staring unseeing into the sky. The knife clattered from his hands in shock. He’d killed someone. Part of him knew this was what he was trained for. He was in the army and they didn’t exactly go around picking flowers to try and make daisy chains of peace. But as a sniper he’d always thought he’d have distance between him and his victims. He’d pull the trigger sure and that would be on him. But he never thought he’d have to kill with his own bare hands. Bile rose in his throat. Distantly he heard the rooftop door clang open but he was too busy emptying his stomach to check who it was. Warm hands were on him, one on his back and one supporting his head. Once he was no longer heaving and retching the same hands turned him, soft curses drifted past his ear. Another set of footsteps approached. More hands, this time pushing down on his side eliciting a burning line of agony. Newt wanted them to stop, he didn’t want to hurt any more. The world was hazy around the edges, words blurred into each other until all he could hear was a high pitched buzzing then the world began to fade. He felt his body be moved but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

When Newt came round he was in a dingy apartment, he was too warm and half naked. He tried to sit up but the flare of pain kept him down as he groaned.

“Hello there Sleeping Beauty.” a voice drifted through the door. Norton walked through with a smile followed by Kowalski. Newt grunted at them, suddenly too exhausted to speak. “You had us worried for a bit there. Quite a spectacular show you put on.”

Newt stared at the ceiling and willed them to go away as memories came flooding back. He winced at the memory of slitting a man’s throat. It later on transpired that after he’d passed out his team had no choice but to patch him up on the rooftop before moving him into the apartment that functioned as their base. It was sheer luck that they could fumble him into their waiting car and nobody spotted them. It would have been an awkward situation to explain. Under the heavy gauze and bandages lay a series of tight knots holding Newt together. Jacob – I think holding in a guy’s guts qualifies as reason enough to use first names, Kowalski had said – kept him company in the apartment for much of the rest of the day. They had to clean up the mess they’d left behind but at least the objectives of the mission had been completed before everything went so spectacularly tits up.

More missions came and went. After his first one Newt was given two month’s medical leave which he spent at Theseus’ house. For his part his brother tried to be around as much as possible, especially in the first few weeks. Newt had nightmares of slitting throats which woke him screaming and crying. Theseus talked him through those nights, listened to Newt cry as he stared at his hands, still seeing the blood there. They talked about death, taking lives and how Theseus coped, knowing he’d killed someone. By the time Newt had been deemed fit for active duty again he could sleep through most night without a nightmare.

Life went on. Newt worked with Jacob a few more times and listened with rapt attention as the other man talked in almost sonnets about a beautiful blonde who was a linguistics specialist. There was a tentative friendship forming between them and Newt found his first postcard from Jacob a few weeks later. Postcards and letters became Newt’s new life as he was shipped around the world. Then a letter came, Theseus had been shot. Nothing serious, a clean through and through bullet wound in the deltoid. But it was enough to bench him from his command post and he needed help. As his next of kin Newt was to be relieved of duty until his brother became self-sufficient again.

By the time Newt made it back home Theseus was ready to be discharged from hospital. They settled into a routine, Newt would cook and clean while Theseus groused and nagged. And made a mess. It came to a point where Newt, who wasn’t the tidiest person by any means gave up. Theseus would leave not just plates and dirty clothes all over the place but also the books he was reading. The remote to the TV would end up in the kitchen. Once Newt pulled earphones out of the washing machine. He decided that for the sake of his sanity he wouldn’t question his brother about it. In addition to the housework Newt took it upon himself to change Theseus’ bandage, make sure he kept with doctor’s orders and sat in on his physio sessions so they could continue it at home. Newt got home one afternoon from his weekly shopping trip to find Theseus on the sofa with a photo album on his lap. He looked thoughtful as he flicked through the pages.

“I was thinking,” he started without glancing up, “I’m always going to have a scar on my shoulder. We should get tattoos.”

Newt almost laughed at the prospect. He’d never imagined Theseus to be the kind to get a tattoo. They left the topic rest for a few days until dinner where Theseus started up again.

“I thought we could get one of mum’s horses each. You could have Artemis, I’d get Fido. Full colour. I’d pay for both obviously.”

Newt swallowed his mouthful before he could choke.

“You’re actually serious about it?” His brother gave him a flat look. “I mean, you’ve never shown an interest in tattoos before.”

“I’ve never had a scar like this before. Plus, I like the idea that wherever we are, we’ll always have something of each other to remind ourselves who is waiting at home.”

Newt sat silently and mulled it over.

“Plus,” Theseus cut into the silence softly, “it would be something of Mum’s too.”

“Let the doctor clear you for it first.” Newt agreed. As much as he’d never thought of getting permanent ink on his body before, now as he pondered the meaning behind Theseus’ suggestion it didn’t seem quite so foreign.

It was another few weeks until Theseus was clears by the doctor. In the mean time they went over old photos, debating the merits of which picture to use. Theseus for his part looked into various tattoo parlours to find one he like the look of. He’d eventually settled on one, booked in the appointments and got started on designs. For his part Newt stayed out of it, just let his brother take control of it as he saw fit. When the big day arrived Newt and Theseus were both nervous. The parlour had 3 work stations and they were lead to the one in the far corner. It was going to be done over three sessions, the first to draw the outlines, the second to start the colouring in and the third to finish and add fine details. Being older of course Theseus went first while Newt sat next to him. It never occurred to Newt that Theseus would whine and grumble throughout the process. By the end of the first hour Newt and the tattoo artist were exchanging exasperated looks. It was a long three and a half hours and at each sigh or huff Newt found himself growing more tense in anticipation. He wasn’t looking forward to the pain that seemed to accompany the tattoos. After a quick lunch break during which Theseus kept up a steady stream of complaints it was finally Newt’s turn. He gave the artist a tight smile and braced himself. The tattoo gun hummed to life and out of the corner of his eye Newt saw it approach his shoulder. Instinctively he turned his head away, hoping that not seeing it would ease the pain. The first prick hurt. He wouldn’t deny that. However it quickly settled into a feeling like a cat’s rough tongue was licking in a very peculiar pattern on his shoulder. Newt couldn’t help it, he raised an eyebrow at Theseus.

“You made a fuss out of this?”

“What? It hurts?”

“You’ve been shot. And you’re complaining about this.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realised that getting shot made you immune to pain. Remind me to never introduce you to Graves. You’d probably tear each other’s throats out.” Theseus snarked to which Newt just rolled his eyes. The constant buzz of the gun lulled him into a relaxed half asleep state. Even Theseus eventually fell quiet when he realised that Newt had zoned him out. A chuckle from his other side roused Newt.

“Rare for a first timer to fall asleep in the chair.” the tattoo artist laughed as he cleared away. He helped Newt wrap up the fresh ink and they were set to return in a few days’ time. The rest of the sessions didn’t go much differently. Theseus remained a drama queen while Newt found himself falling asleep quicker each time. The end result was a magnificent stallion on each of their shoulders, Theseus’ scar skilfully hidden amongst the rolling grass of the field.

They returned to their respective jobs soon after that. Theseus had been lined for yet another promotion which would see him almost permanently removed from the field. His injury had moved the timeline ahead. It transpired that command liked to keep good personnel on the ground for as long as possible before promoting them out of the field. Being shot simply meant that Theseus was now promoted a good six months to a year ahead of schedule which caused him no amount of pleasure. He crowed delighted at the fact that he now once again outranked Graves who was stuck in the field for another year at least.

 Newt found himself once again in the same unit as Jacob. Their friendship had blossomed and Jacob brought another friend along. He was a young boy named Credence. At first he was terribly shy, barely looking at Newt and stumbling over his words. After pulling Jacob to the side Newt got a better understanding of the boy. He’d come from an abusive home, moved around foster care a lot and ended up in an underfunded and rather religiously fanatic group home where they got more beatings than meals a day. It took Newt a little while to figure out how to approach Credence without frightening him. However once he wormed his way past the defences he was quick to discover a sharp wit paired with a dark sense of humour. From then on it was an easy friendship between the three of them. Jacob still thought his linguistic specialist - who had worked with Credence before – hung the moon.

Nobody expected the ambush of their camp. It was the middle of the night, Newt was in his bunk when hands closed round his mouth and throat and he was bodily dragged out. Of all the things he’d imagined army life to be he somehow never thought about being a hostage. The enemy group was small. Only four of them against a team of 20. But they had the advantage of surprise and Newt as hostage. His hands were tied behind his back and for good measure they cracked him across the temple with the butt of a pistol. He stumbled to the ground, dizziness overwhelming him. It was easier to close his eyes until he was hauled to his feet by his hair. A gun was pressed under his chin. Newt opened his eyes and took in his team. Most of them were in their sleep wear, Credence was towards the front of the group, one hand curled behind him. Their opponents huddled round Newt using him as a human shield as the yelled their demands. Scrunching his eyes shut Newt tried to will away the spinning of the world. He eyed Credence best he could. It looked like he had a gun in his hand. Newt blinked again. That was almost definitely a gun half hidden. He swallowed thickly, the gun under his chin digging in uncomfortably. Credence’s eyes were wide and wild. Newt tried to nod at him and had his hair yanked hard for his efforts.

“Any last words?” the person behind him growled in his ear.

“Yes actually.” Newt couldn’t help himself. “I trust you Credence. Now SHOOT!”

Everything happened too fast after that. Credence brought his hand out and took aim. A bang followed by searing pain under his collar bone, shouting, more shooting and then hands were on him. At that point Newt decided his part was done and passed out.

He came to in the hospital tent with Credence sitting next to him. The younger man smiled at him sadly.

“How are feeling?” he asked. Newt considered this before he replied.

“Pretty good all things considered. I think they’ve got me on the good stuff.”

Credence let out a small laugh at that.

“Sorry I shot you.”

“I seem to remember I all but told you to, didn’t I? Hey,” Newt’s voice became gentle, “you saved the day.”

“I shot you.”

“I’m alive.”

“I shot you.”

“I’ll get used to it.” That got him another laugh. “So what’s the damage?”

“Clean through and through. You’ll live.” Jacob’s voice interrupted from the door. “Honestly Newt, you’ve got to stop being such a drama queen. And since when do you have a horse on your deltoid?”

“My brother has one too.”

“Uhuh. Not trying to subtly suggest anything there, are you?”

“You can read anything you want into it Jacob. I wouldn’t ever fall foul of false advertising.”

The giggle from the chair next to his was a delightful sound. Newt turned to face Credence.

“In case you’re too young to understand I will translate for you. I am hung like a horse.”

The roar of laughter from Jacob joined Credence’s giggles. Conversation turned to tattoos once again though and Credence showed particular interest in it all. When Newt was released with instructions to take it easy while the tissue knitted back together he found Credence waiting for him looking slightly nervous. They’d discussed the idea of dating their scars and Credence had joked that he might as well sign under the one he caused. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he offered to do a date underneath the wound. After a moment’s hesitation Newt agreed. It wasn’t as comfortable doing it in their bunk as it had been in the parlour, they didn’t have a tattoo gun, instead it was a stick and poke style scrawny thing that was shaky at the beginning though by the end it looked a little steadier. It was ugly, it was amateurish but it was done with good intent and that’s all Newt cared about. When the next night he asked Credence to do another one on his chest the young man nervously agreed. The letters DNR were done in thick block letters, each letter took an evening to do but in Newt’s eyes it was worth it.

The letter from Theseus arrived out of the blue. He was back in the field on a special mission. It wasn’t a very detailed letter, mostly berating him for being shot by his own team but the last little bit chilled Newt to the bone. He’d been dragged back into the field at his own request. He was going after Graves who had been captured by Grindelwald. He had a good team around him to help track and save Graves (if indeed there was anything left of him to save). So he was going to be incommunicado for the foreseeable future and Newt shouldn’t worry. Instead he should shoot back at the idiot who shot him. The last line elicited a small chuckle from Newt but he still worried.

Eight weeks later another letter arrived from Theseus. Graves had been found. Queenie’s sister had been the one to locate him eventually. He was now in hospital back home. It was going to be a long road to recovery. Theseus’ relief was palpable in his words and newt sagged in relief that his brother was safe once again. Whispers of Grindelwald were picking up around the various teams he’d been part of. The man was meant to be cunning, brutal and suave. A dangerous mix before you brought in weapons trafficking, war mongering and general blood lust. There were also rumours going round of a team being assembled who were to be tasked with locating and eliminating the man. It was an impossible task, Grindelwald was never reported in the same place more than once. He was more like a ghost, echoes of his memory lingered in tales but the man himself was always two steps ahead.

The summons for his presence at home headquarters surprised Newt. He’d been half expecting it, hoping to get assigned to a permanent team but at the same time he’d grown used to moving between various teams. The meeting was half filled with familiar faces. Jacob and Credence greeted him with a bear hug and a warm smile respectively. Almost shyly Jacob introduced the blonde woman next to him as Queenie. If his letters were anything to go by things had been progressing well between the two. The last he knew Jacob had been looking at rings. A subtle glance at their hands revealed that Jacob had found some rings and the happy couple were now engaged. Newt smiled to himself. Next to Queenie was a dark woman who turned out to be Tina her sister. Before further conversation could be made the door opened and they were ushered into the office where Theseus sat. They all took seats in the now cramped office and listened. They were to be assigned as Team Bravo, a small task force charged with locating Grindelwald. Newt tried not to drop his head in his hands at that news. Of all the assignments to be picked for. Judging by Theseus’ face he was torn between being stupidly proud of Newt and despairing at his little brother’s impossible task. Tina was to lead the unit as acting Captain until a suitable person was found however the mission was important enough to get them out into the field right away. The meeting ended and they were dismissed.

“Scamander.” Theseus called after Newt. The others filed out of the room and gave Newt a sympathetic smile. Once the door closed Theseus walked round the table.

“The Captain we have in mind. It’s Graves. If he accepts, please be gentle with him. He’s not as bad as he seems. Really.”

“Making excuses already? If I didn’t know better I’d say you were worried.” Newt teased. He got a shoulder shove for his efforts.

“Idiot. I’m just saying. You’ll probably hate his guts. I wouldn’t blame you. But try to remember that he’s actually a decent guy.”

Newt laughed and shook his head.

“I’ll behave and play nice. And if you can wrangle me a tent for nature studies I might even go as far as try to like him even if he’s an ass.”

“Thanks Newt. Now get out of my office.”

His brother laughed again and practically skipped out of the room. He finally had a team, an assignment, no matter how impossible it seems and if Theseus pulled through on his end of the deal he’ll even get to study nature in his spare time.


	2. Graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Percival acquired his scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed warnings and tags!  
> There is heavily implied/non-graphic non-con, torture and prisoner of war situations described in this chapter. More warnings in the notes at the end but I really don't want anyone taken by surprise. I would rather over warn than have someone read something they didn't want to.

Not all scars were physical. Percival knew that from an early age. He was an army brat, his father was stationed in a different town every few years, sometimes even a different country. His parents had married young, they were foolish and thought they were in love. Unfortunately time didn’t prove them right. As they moved from town to town Percival’s mother became bitter, the isolation wearing her down into a short tempered, foul mouthed crone. When his father was home he expected order, punctuality and respect much like he did in the army. His parents fought viciously. Some of his earliest memories were screaming matches between them. It was with vicious glee his mother told him his first words were “you little fuck”. So as he grew up, starting a new school every few years he got used to being the outsider, he got things done and stayed out of the way. He never had much of a career choice, his father enlisted him in cadet training as soon as he could and he joined the army without much trouble. The only thing Percival quietly swore to himself was to never tie anyone to his life because he’d seen the effects of that on his mother and himself. It wasn’t something he wished on anyone so he steered clear of any romantic interests.

Army life suited Percival surprisingly well. Basic training was almost easy after all the drills his father had put him through. The order, clear expectations and hierarchy was easy to follow. There were no complications. Well. Only minor ones. And they mostly went by the name of Theseus Scamander. That man was a menace. For some reason on their first day he’d singled Percival out as his designated best friend and hadn’t left him alone since. Thankfully he was 3 beds down from his bunk but even that didn’t seem to deter him from prattling on if he felt like it. Most nights there was a chorus of “shut up Scamander” that became a team mantra after a while. It was almost guaranteed that if something happened then he was behind it. While nobody could prove it, the time the breakfast omelette turned out green and mysterious time the assault course mud imbued everyone with a revolting fishy smell were both chalked up to one of his pranks. The worst thing was that Percival found himself warming up to the man and opening up around him. They were usually sparring partners and initially Percival could easily wipe the floor with Theseus. He never made a big deal out of it, never gloated and never lorded his superiority over him. As Theseus’ hand-to-hand combat improved it became more of a challenge. Their fights became dirtier and one day Percival found himself laughing winded as he leaned against the wall.

“You’re an ass Scamander.” It earned him a swift punch to the gut that had him doubling up with a gasp of pain. Theseus was immediately crouched next to him, apologies falling from his lips.

“Shit Graves. I didn’t mean that. I forgot to pull it in time. Sorry.” Theseus’ hand was warm on his shoulder as Percival tried to breathe through the fire of the pain. Once he could draw a full breath without coughing and doubling over he looked up at the other worried man.

“I stand by my statement. Ass.”

The group that had collected around them in curiosity and worry let out a smattering of laughs. While nobody had wanted to admit it, they were worried that the fight would escalate out of hand after Theseus’ mistake. Instead Theseus pulled Percival off the ground and gave him a gruff hug before meandering off. After that incident Percival had found that some things had begun to rub off on him courtesy of his friend. He became louder, more boisterous in a way he’d never had the chance to be before. Sparring matched became the highlight of his week. He still usually beat Theseus but he’d found himself offering a running commentary while they fought and they started to draw a crowd.

“Palm to the chest. That must hurt. Low kick. Oh it was a feint followed up with a knee to the groin. Ah. Foot to the gluteal. The humiliation!”

Claps went up around them as Theseus stumbled from his kick. Percival grinned as the man turned to launch an attack.

“I think someone’s angry now. Upper block to defend blow to the head. Knife, palm, fore-fist – what a devastating combination. Sweep and there go your legs. Axe kick to keep you down. Thank you. I’m here all afternoon.”

Percival grinned boyishly as he pulled Theseus to his feet for the third time that day.

“You know Graves, you really are an annoying bugger.” Theseus grumbled.

“I live to serve.”

“Twat.”

It wasn’t any surprise when Percival and Theseus ended up in the same cohort for Officer Training Camp. It was a new revelation for Percival. He could be whoever he wanted to be, no longer confined by his father’s expectations which had weighed heavily on him when he first joined basic training. Those first few weeks defined his very being for the rest of the time but now, with a new group of people and Theseus by his side he was free. To this day he still isn’t sure how he got the gash on his shin. His recollection of the night is hazy, losing all comprehensibility around the sixth pint with Theseus. What he does remember is the fountain. For some reason, after the pub had shut he and Theseus had decided that they didn’t want to head back to the base yet. His friend had managed to produce a bottle of tequila from somewhere and they headed into the deserted town centre, staggering through the square to the fountain which they sat beside and took turns taking a swig from the bottle. They stared up at the sky, the full moon bright and Theseus sighed about his amazing little brother who wanted to join the canine unit when he was old enough. This promptly set Theseus off howling at the moon like a wolf between giggles until Percival joined in. It seemed perfectly logical to then crawl around the square on all fours and howl at the moon until Percival clambered head first into the fountain. It was probably during his dive that his whacked his shin on the lip of the fountain. He never noticed until the next morning when he pried his eyes open and saw the dried blood sticking his trousers to his shin. Nobody mentioned nor questioned the fact that Theseus woke up clutching a bright purple plush dinosaur which looked like it had seen better days.

The dinosaur became a gag between the two men. They leapfrogged each other through promotions. Theseus was the first to make it to Second Lieutenant and he graciously handed Percival the dinosaur as a consolation prize. When Percival became Captain before Theseus the dinosaur arrived neatly wrapped with a bow round its neck at Theseus’ outpost.

Of all the stupid things to do, Percival ended up in the hospital with a sprained ankle. He’d been running a drill with his complement when one of the newer recruits had stumbled which was to be expected. However the poor sod had grabbed onto Percival from behind and as Percival twisted back to see what was going on he was dragged down, his full weight going onto his ankle. He swore he could feel the bone touch the ground before the rest of him crumpled on top of it. At least Mason the recruit wasn’t hurt. After the initial assessment he was given a cast and instructions to not move it for at least a few days. So he was stuck in a hospital room until the doctors deemed him fit to return to light duty. He rolled his eyes. Light duty meant paperwork, writing reports and devising training schedules. If he was lucky he’d get to muck in at the mess hall with the cooks. The door clicked open stirring him from his thoughts. A “get well soon” balloon floated through the crack and a familiar looking dinosaur head poked through shortly after.

“Hello.” the dinosaur growled at him.

“God help me if it’s you Scamander I will throw my ankle brace at you.”

Theseus pushed through the door with a grin, a large bouquet of garishly pink flowers lay in his arms. The balloon ended up tied to his brace, the flowers were placed in his water jug and the dinosaur look up half the pillow.

“Heard you took a very graceful tumble so a poor recruit wouldn’t hurt themselves. And they say chivalry is dead.”

“Shut up.” Percival mumbled. As mind numbingly boring recovery was he wasn’t in the mood for Theseus’ teasing.

“Take a chill pill man.” Theseus looked affronted. “I just came by to say get well soon. And to let you know that Major Scamander here is shipping out tomorrow.”

“Screw you.” came the annoyed reply.

“I’m pleased for me too. Thanks for your well wishes.”

“I’m not in the mood to play games.”

“Fine. Well. Good luck being such a sourpuss. I hope the nurses are all ugly or women. Or both.” Theseus stood to leave while Percival blinked at him.

“Oh don’t give me that look. Yes, I knew. No, I couldn’t care less. Do I really look like that much of a dick? My brother thought I’d be mad at him and now you. Perhaps it’s just as well I’m shipping out. Maybe the enemy will think twice about attacking someone who looks like such a bigoted homophobe.” with that Theseus flounced out of the room. Quietly Percival mused over the fact that perhaps Theseus and his flamboyant ways should really have clued him in about his attitude. If anybody looked at the two of them they’d definitely assume Theseus was the gay friend.

Percival didn’t hear from Theseus for a long while after that. He himself was promoted to Major before a letter from Theseus arrived. He’d been shot on his last tour and was recuperating at home with his brother’s help. It made Percival feel a little bad. If it had been worse than “just” getting shot, he and Theseus’ last words would to each other would have been those of anger and annoyance. He made a promise to himself to make it up when he next saw Theseus.

Lieutenant Colonel Scamander arrived at their base in time to watch Major Graves berate a group of privates for drinking on duty. It was priceless to see the green eared younglings go wide eyed when Theseus clapped Percival on the shoulder, dismissed the group with warnings about not doing it again and smile in the face of indignant anger.

“You need to lighten up old man. Didn’t we do much the same when we were their age?”

“They need discipline. And we never drank when on duty. What we did in our time off was entirely our own decision.”

“Cheer up sour puss. I have brought a bottle of tequila with me.”

“I don’t think I can face that after last time.”

“Amateur.”

Percival never could not rise to a challenge. Which was how, in the dead of the night he and Theseus were streaking across the parade ground, evading the night patrol’s ever watchful eye. They were breathlessly snickering behind the stands when Percival’s eyes were drawn to the other man’s shoulder. He frowned, drunken eyes struggling to focus.

“You have a horse on your shoulder.” he stated dumbly before cupping a palm over the horse’s head.

“What you doing?” Theseus tried to brush his arm off.

“Trying to see if you’re having a good time.” came the slurred answer.

“What?”

“I read somewhere that you can tell a girl’s had a good time if you put your hand down her pants and it feels like she’s snickering in your palm.”

“But we haven’t had sex. And Fido is a stallion.”

“Oh yeah.” Percival dropped his hand with a frown.

“But we are naked.”

“But you’re not a woman.

“True.”

Patrol walked past their hiding place and they stilled. Once it sounded like all was quiet they snuck out and started off at a run towards the far perimeter.

Neither of them wanted to open their eyes in the morning but it Thursday which meant it was time for the 5am run. For possibly the first time in his life Percival hung to the back of the group and when he was sure nobody was looking he ducked into the nearest bush to throw up. Theseus patted him on the back because of course the bastard would see him. Revenge was sweet when three bushes later they swapped positions and Percival was rubbing his back in faux sympathy.

More promotions came and went. Both Percival and Theseus were Major Generals. The purple dinosaur was hidden in Theseus’ office. Neither of them went out into the field often any more. It was a special ops mission which had lured Percival out of the strategy talks and the odd spate of lectures at basic training camp. Truth be told Percival missed being on tour, missed the camaraderie that came with commanding troops. So when he was offered the chance to join a covert mission to track down Grindelwald he jumped at the chance. He and a junior officer were to move from camp to camp to pick up on gossip to try and locate Grindelwald and report back on their findings. First Lieutenant Goldstein was nothing he expected. She was eager to prove herself and move up in the ranks. They worked well together, her attitude and desire to do well complimented his drive and desire to do more practical work than be cooped up behind a desk. Together they built up a trail to follow, drifting between outposts and listening to local gossip. The reports they cobbled together for the General were detailed and to the point. They were almost at the point of having a clear idea of when and where Grindelwald had been for the last 3 months. It was the most information anyone had ever managed to amass and it was valuable. Of course things were going too well. Percival should have known something was going to go wrong.

They were separated. Their contact had turned out to be a mole. Percival and Tina were being dragged in opposite directions towards waiting trucks. By a stroke of luck Percival managed to head-butt one of his captors who released his arm. In a flash he had his pistol in hand and was shooting at those holding Tina. He knew what was happening. If he could get Tina out safely it would be worth it. She was too young to endure the horrors of being a hostage. He groused as he realised that she only had two captors compared to his three. It would serve them right for being so sexist in their hostage taking. He took aim and pulled the trigger.

“Pow. In the face.” He took another shot. “Oops, only in the shoulder. Still enough for Tina to make a break for it.  Good girl. Run. Now. Pistol whip to the head for you sir. That must have hurt. Elbow to the solar plexus. Ah you’re back from your head-butt surprise. Well done.”

He fought to the best of his abilities, the gun was knocked from his hand and it was three against one. He watched Tina run into the village in the distance, safe in the knowledge that at least she’d get word out to the General about their ambush. Percival didn’t hear the fourth attacker who he’d shot in the shoulder approach from behind. The first he knew was the searing pain as someone stamped on his knee. It buckled under the pressure and he fell to the ground with a cry. His own pistol cracked him across the temple sending him spiralling into darkness.

The ground was cold under him and it was dark. Percival had no idea where he was. His head throbbed in time with the pounding of his heart while his knee felt as though it were on fire. His trousers were torn so it took little effort to widen the gap and see what the issue was. He kneecap was slid out of place, the skin swollen puffy and bruised around the area. A gash ran down the outside of his leg which was still sluggishly bleeding. So he hadn’t been out for too long. The door to his cell opened letting in harsh light.

“Welcome.” a smooth voice purred. Percival squinted against the light. The figure moved into the room and the door swung shut behind him. “Welcome to my palace Percival Graves.”

His veins ran cold and instinctively Percival tried to push himself up against the wall as far from the man as possible.

“Come now. I mean you no harm.” the man chided.

“Grindelwald.” Percival bit out.

“Why so angry? I only wanted a chat.”

“You’re getting nothing out of me.”

“Oh, that sounds like a challenge. I do like a challenge. And I’ll bet you’ll be singing like a bird by the end.”

Percival spat at the man and got a sharp slap in return.

“You behave or I’ll make you regret it.” Grindelwald’s voice turned cold and harsh as his foot pressed down on Percival’s swollen knee. The days bled into each other after that. At first Percival was just given good old fashioned beatings and then Grindelwald would appear in the doorway, haloed by light like some sick and twisted guardian angel ready to tend to his bruises and cuts. When that didn’t work food was withdrawn as an addition. To make things worse the guards who beat him mocked him relentlessly. They narrated every hit they were going to make, giving Percival just enough time to tense and flinch before the blow landed. Eventually he was too tired to listen and try to fend off the blows. It didn’t matter if he got another bruise on top of his stacked collection. All it did was mar his memories of training with Theseus and doing much the same with him. Percival swore to never commentate on hand-to-hand combat ever again.

 There was no pattern to the days. Percival slept fitfully only to be woken for another beating. Then everything stopped. Nobody came by his cell. He was left without food and the only source of water was the dirty drips from a filthy, leaking pipe high up on the ceiling. After what Percival presumed was over a day of solitude he mustered up the effort to drag himself to where the drips were splashing onto the ground and lay below the water. It was tepid, tasted of rust and who knew what else but it was water. It dripped on his chin, flowed down his face but he just closed his eyes a let it splash.

The door opening brought Percival out of his stupor.

“Percy my darling! Did you miss me?” Grindelwald was too loud in comparison to his last few days of absolute silence. Percival groaned and tried to shield his eyes from the light.

“Come my pretty,” Grinelwald all but trilled as he pulled Percival from his place under the water, “I’ve got a treat for you.”

On the floor was a delicate china plate with a piece of still warm toast on it. If he’d had more energy Percival would have taken the toast in one hand and the smashed the plate with the other as a crude weapon. As it was, he lay slumped on the ground where Grinderlwald had dropped him next to the plate. A warm body settled against his back and he was pulled into a sitting position. Percival tried to struggle but his bruises, probable cracked rib and no doubt at least moderate concussion left him weak and struggling like a kitten in the paws of a lion.

“Now now. Tell me my delicate little flower, why are there troops amassing south of the border.”

Percival tried to snarl in denial. A hand closed around his throat.

“Don’t you want some toast?” Said item was tantalisingly wafted in front of his face even as the hand tightened its hold on his airways. Grindelwald continued to hold the food just out of his reach and asked him questions. Each time Percival refused to answer he was pinched, bruises were pressed on and sharp nails dug into his cuts. Long after the toast had gone cold Grindelwald let out a frustrated growl and shoved Percival forward harshly. The toast was flung into the far corner of cell and his captor snatched the plate and swept out of the room. It took a few minutes for Percival to gather up enough strength to pull himself after the toast. It had landed in the small puddle of water that had formed on the ground and was soggy with brown water. Percival was beyond the point of caring. He hungrily tore at the piece of bread and relished the way his stomach stopped clenching around itself in gnawing hunger and lay back under the dripping water.

After the failed attempt the beatings took on a new form. The next time Percival saw Grindelwald he carried a whip. While he’d never previously given his good fortune in being relatively scar free much thought, Percival bitterly thought that he was well on his way to catching up now. After the third whipping session his back was one torn up mess. It hurt to lay on the ground to let water drip in his mouth. He didn’t have the energy to keep himself upright without the support of a wall though. Food was scarce and usually only enough to keep him conscious for his next session with Grindelwald. He’d lost all sense of pride, he cried out each time the whip cracked across his already bloody back. When Grindelwald’s soft caress of his shoulders turned into sharp nails raking through his cuts he screamed. Nothing he did seemed to stop the torment.

Then there was nothing again. A few days of silence, of darkness and isolation. Just the drip-drip of water to keep him company. It was an almost welcome relief. His aching body could curl up on itself without anyone barging through the bright light of the outside. Without more pain being inflicted on him. Even his hunger had faded into a dull background ache. His knee had thankfully gone numb after being dragged around by Grindelwald and the guards. The swelling was frankly hilarious proportions now, his skin looked paper thin and stretched to the point of splitting. Percival knew he shouldn’t find it funny but he’d hit a point of laugh of go mad and he didn’t dare entertain the idea that they were one and the same thing.

It became a cycle soon after. A few days of solitude during which he could allow himself moments of self-pity mixed in with letting his body rest followed by a few days of being Grindelwald’s toy. The man never gave him much respite between their sessions which became more explicit, humiliating and violent. The worst was he’d never let Percival’s mind drift as his body was invaded first by fingers, then Grindelwald’s cock. He’d mutter sweet nothings in his ear, keeping him grounded in the moment and if for a second he thought Percival still managed to drift he’d dig his fingers into his abused flesh viciously. Later on Grindelwald would use objects on him but he never let anyone else touch Percival. He saw how the guards looked at him. Some with disgust, some with pity and a few with open longing. Those guards Percival never saw again. Grindelwald was a possessive, jealous man and Percival was his prize toy of the moment.

There were times when Percival lay under his dripping pipe and tried not to think of what was trickling down the backs of his thighs. He’d been stripped of all clothes probably a week back. His back had crusted over and pulled with every breath. Those moments Percival would close his eyes and wish he’d never have to open them again. That never came. The door would be flung open again and Grindelwald would be stood there against a background of painfully bright light with his newest torture implement in his hands. The day he came with a lighter was the day Percival bitterly regretted saving Tina and not himself.

It was another phase of darkness and hoping for it all to swallow him up. It had gone on longer than any of the previous stretches of solitude. Percival hoped that Grindelwald had found a new, more interesting toy and forgotten all about his. His back felt inflamed, he was certain he was running a fever and his knee was an almost black pulsing bruise. One of the last times the guards had dropped him back in his cell one of them had kicked him with a low snarl. Percival let out a small whimper when the door swung open. There was nobody in the doorway. If he’d felt stronger he may have tried to crawl towards it but part of him wondered if this was another cruel trick of Grindelwald’s. Give him the illusion of an escape route and when he fell for it punishment would be swift, severe and well deserved.

The silhouette of a head poked round the door. Chin length hair, feminine. Familiar. Not Grindelwald. Percival panicked briefly. Had Tina betrayed him? Was she on Grindelwald’s side all along? Had she been captured too? The thoughts made his breath catch in his throat as he let out a whine.

“Sir!” Tina gasped. “General, I’ve found him!” she called over her shoulder and made her way into the cell. Another figure barrelled through the door as she approached.

“Fuck.” Percival had never heard Theseus so speechless. A coat was draped over his shivering frame to try and preserve any modesty he may have once upon a time had. Still he couldn’t help the flinch that it elicited. Theseus was muttering under his breath as he tried to manoeuvre him without injuring him further. Percival wanted to laugh at the thought, he didn’t think he could be more broken even if someone ran him over with a double decker bus then dragged him through a dog park. He may have actually laughed at the thought, he wasn’t sure. Something was wrapped around his knee perhaps a blank of wood with Tina’s jacket or he could have been imagining that. His friends were there, he didn’t have to worry any more, it was their turn to take care of things. Strong arms curled under him, brushing against his back and the burns on his shoulders and Percival couldn’t hold in his cry of pain.

“I’m so sorry Graves. I’m sorry.” it was a litany almost, murmured into his filthy hair as each step jarred freshly against his wounds. At least Theseus called him Graves, he wasn’t sure if he could stand to be called Percy at that moment. A flash of panic made him weakly kick out as the approached the door, a soft cloth was draped over his face.

“We’ve got you Graves. Please. Don’t panic. We’ve got you. It’s just a strip of cloth to protect your eyes from the light. Please.” Theseus sounded dangerously close to begging. Percival flung the cloth to the ground and blinked against the harsh light. He should have figured Grindelwald would put an industrial light just above the door to make the difference between his dark, dank cell and the outside world just that much bigger. Percival wasn’t sure when he finally passed out or fell asleep. But it was a welcome blackness where things no longer hurt.

Opening his eyes the first thing Percival saw was the large purple dinosaur on his bedside table. He blinked owlishly at it and decided to go back to sleep because it was too much to handle in that moment. The dinosaur was still there when he woke again. So was a doctor and a few nurses. They asked him questions, told him to take it easy and mad way for his visitor. Theseus shuffled through the door with a gentle smile. It was a scarier look on him than the anger and frustration Percival had borne witness to in their shared history. What was a welcome difference was Theseus didn’t ask him how he was doing. It didn’t need to be asked, it was fairly obvious how Percival was. Gaunt and pale with more needles and tubes stuck in him than a taxidermied hedgehog while his body was covered in more bandages than skin.

“Welcome back Lieutenant-General.” It was a valiant attempt at their usual rivalry from Theseus but it fell flat. Percival tried to muster up the energy to at least return the attempt.

“Why do I get the dinosaur then?”

“Yours truly here is now General so he stays with you until you catch up.”

“Huh.” That was all Percival could manage. They sat for the first time in their lives in awkward silence. Percival looked at the other man who stared back at him morosely. When the nurse bustled back into the room Theseus left with a tight lipped smile and Percival really hoped he only imagined the barely held back tears.

Theseus came by at semi regular intervals. For his part Percival really tried to shake things back into their normal routine but something about Theseus was off. It all came tumbling out four weeks after Percival’s rescue.

“I don’t want you shutting down again.” Theseus blurted out one day.

“What do you mean again?”

“Remember basic training? You were sullen, withdrawn and looked so fucking miserable when we started. It was unbearable to watch. I don’t want to see you like that again. You were like an emotionless robot going through well trained motions. It was terrifying.”

Silence settled around them as Percival digested his friend’s words.

“And I can see you going down the same route again. I hate it.” It was an almost mumble. Something in Percival snapped.

“Well I’m sorry to hurt your feelings princess.” he roared, “I’m sorry I was taken hostage, beaten, tortured and raped and now I can’t fucking smile and laugh about it. Come back tomorrow and I’ll try to make it better for you, shall I?”

Theseus blinked at him owlishly.

“I didn’t mean that. Why won’t you talk to someone about what happened? It’s okay to feel. I don’t want you to bottle everything up and make yourself suffer.” he paused momentarily and looked away. “I wouldn’t suggest you do anything I haven’t done. There’s no shame in talking.”

It was Percival’s turn to stare at his friend. They’d been through so much together yet still there were surprises to be had.

“I don’t want to talk. I’m trying to move on. I want to forget it ever happened.”

“By pretending it never happened?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Okay.” Theseus let out a huff of air. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced around the room. “So Newt, my little brother’s going to be part of the team to work on the information you and Goldstein amassed.”

Percival perks up at that. Perhaps all his suffering was worth it.

“When I said I wanted to forget and move on, I forgot something. I also want revenge.”

Theseus looked up at him startled.

“You could have an honourable discharge and a comfy severance pay.”

“The best payment I could have is seeing that bastard suffer. If you can swing it, I want in.”

Theseus whistled and nodded slowly.

“I’ll see what I can do. But anyway, Newt. I need to tell you about his latest escapades. You’d kill him if you ever met him. The two of you couldn’t be any different.”

Percival settled back and let his best friend talk. He’d have a chance at revenge later. But first he needed to recover enough to be able to carry out his plans to make Grindelwald wish he’d never even seen him in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is minimal implied child neglect in the first paragraph.  
> Avoid reading from the paragraph beginning "He fought to the best of his abilities" to avoid bodily harm, implied torture, implied and non-graphic non-con, starvation, and generally distressing situations involving being a hostage and a prisoner of war.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a military AU and considering the whole fic is about scars, there's going to be violence (somewhat graphic), blood and gore throughout.  
> There's also homophobia and one instance of accusation of unwanted sexual advances.


End file.
